Wit Is As Infinite As Love, And

It Is Not Easy To Find Happiness In Ourselves, And It Is Not Possible To Find It Elsewhere.

[mary Wortley Montagu] Wrote More Letters, With Fewer Punctuation Marks, Than Any Englishwoman Of Her Day; And Her Nephew, The Fourth Baron Rokeby, Nearly Blinded Himself In Deciphering The Two Volumes Of Undated Correspondence Which Were Printed In 1810. Two More Followed In 1813, After Which The Gallant Baron Either Died At His Post Or Was Smitten With Despair; For Sixty-eight Cases Of Letters Lay Undisturbed ... 'les Morts N'écrivent Point,' Said Madame De Maintenon Hopefully; But Of What Benefit Is This Inactivity, When We Still Continue To Receive Their Letters?

It Is In His Pleasure That A Man Really Lives.

Economics And Ethics Have Little In Common.

Guests Are The Delight Of Leisure, And The Solace Of Ennui.